Torn
by Five Minute Obsessions
Summary: At fourteen, Torn and his sister are out of the streets of Haven and fending for themselves. Things are looking grim when he learns that the Krimzon Guard are hunting for them because of their parent's crimes... -INDEFINITE HIATUS-
1. Chapter 1

**Please note: The following is a transcript, taken from Haven City's official files, of recent announcements made by Baron Praxis via the radio broadcasting terminals situated throughout the city.**

_"I'd like to make an announcement regarding the group of protesters that's sprung up recently, calling themselves 'Rebels'... Apparently these people are unsatisfied with the job I'm doing, protecting and running this city. After all my hard work, my personal sacrifice and dedication just isn't enough for these Rebels. Well. Let me tell you something, you Rebel rats, wherever you may be. THIS IS MY CITY. You should be ashamed of yourself! Your foolish protests cause unrest and dissent among perfectly content citizens. Your antics are breeding disobedience and disloyalty among my loyal people! Your so-called peaceful demonstration led to a riot last month. This is a trying time for all the citizens of Haven City, and we must be united as a civilization in order to overcome it. Do you really think that standing in the streets and waving signs is going to help improve the situation? All you're doing is caused confusion and anxiety! I've put up with your foolishness for long enough. For your own sake, you'd better end these protests..."_

TORN

CHAPTER 1

The day was grey and cold in Haven city. Dark storm clouds were swirling and gathering overhead, a chilling wind blowing through the ruined streets.

Everything had changed since Baron Praxis had taken power. The Metal Head war had escalated, and the city was reportedly losing Eco power. While King Damas still ruled the throne, they'd fought their battle with the terrible creatures outside the city. Now the Metal Heads were finding ways to attack the city from within, creeping through holes in the city's shield walls. Entire sections of the shield had lost power and went offline at times, allowing Metal heads to swarm in, wrecking buildings and killing innocents in their wake. Whole areas of the city had been destroyed, leaving many citizens homeless and poor. The Baron insisted forcefully that the reports of the city's falling Eco supplies were simply rumours, that he would destroy the Metal Heads in due time, and that the citizens of Haven City were safe and had absolutely nothing to worry about.

They knew better.

Sector Nineteen of Haven City had been almost completely destroyed in the last attack. Once a peaceful, middle-class area, most of Nineteen now laid in ruins. Bits of broken, twisted metal and chunks of plaster and brick lay smashed across the road. Sector Nineteen also happened to be home to a teenaged boy whose home had, thankfully, been left more or less intact. He was one of the lucky ones.

Today this boy sat alone quietly by the side of the road, using a chunk of torn-off metal as a makeshift bench. The strong wind whipped his rust-coloured, dreadlocked hair in his face. His icy blue eyes were quiet and watchful. His face was pale and thin, his arched features even more dramatic now that the war had made food hard to come by; he'd become no stranger to hunger in the past few months. There was still a shadow of adolescent freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks, a cruel reminder that the boy was really still a child, although pain and hardships had aged him beyond his years. He was wearing a thin grey-and-red sweater, a pair of ragged grey jeans, and a long grey coat which he gripped tightly to his thin frame. Last month he'd turned fourteen years old, his birthday (and he himself, it seemed) forgotten in light of the war. His name was Torn.

A blue and grey transporter bus screamed past him, tearing easily over the ripped-up pavement as it broke through the air, it's worn-down engine wailing, leaving a trail of black smog in it's wake. Torn's blue eyes narrowed as he watched the transporter land yards away from him. It's metal doors slid open to allow a single, small figure to exit, her ruby hair blazing like a beacon against her dreary surroundings. As if escaping the scene of a crime, the transporter closed it's doors and rushed away on the wind. Torn jumped up and ran to meet the redheaded girl. The others walking on the sidewalks moved away from him hurriedly, their eyes worried and suspicious at the quiet boy's sudden show of life and enthusiasm.

"Hi, Torn." The red-headed girl's snake-green eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked up at her brother.

"Hey, Star." Torn's voice was oddly rough and gentle at the same time. He took off his coat, even though the wind and cold were already eating into him, and wrapped it around his sister's shoulders. Side-by-side, the two began their long, lonely walk home. Torn knew he and his sister were some of the few fortunate ones; they still had a roof to sleep under and their own warm beds, but after the Metal Head attacks their lives had still changed, albeit in a more subtle way. Torn's parents had once been loving, caring people towards their children (_well, Star, at least,_ Torn thought with a hint of bitterness) but now they were distant and withdrawn. It seemed their parents had given up, just like so many others; given up their faith and their wills and their lives, and lost hope of ever being saved from the Metal Head monsters. Torn and Star mostly fended for themselves now.

For a while the two siblings seemed content with the silence that had stretched between them, like during so many other long journeys home, but then Star spoke. "How was work?" she asked her brother hesitantly, plucking at threads for conversation.

Torn's job for the city was always miserable. He and boys like him had been hired by the Baron to move the wreckage out of the streets. It was hard, back-breaking manual labour, picking up pieces of brick and metal and plaster and hauling them into a transporter. At the end of his shift, every part of his body seemed to ache and his fingers bled. They were paid very little for their efforts. "Work was fine," Torn said simply. "How was school?"

"Fine." She didn't mention that a girl in her class had pulled out a knife that day. Star didn't want her brother to worry about her more than he already did, and they both knew that her junior high school was on the verge of being shut down, just like Torn's high school had been the year before. It was only the law that kept Star going to school at all.

Their short conversation died there, and again the air filled with silence as they traversed the ruins of Sector Nineteen. Torn looked up at the sky, grey storm clouds gathering thicker. He considered making some inane comment about the weather, then decided he liked the quiet better. It was almost comforting, in a way.

Something small and cold crept into his hand; startled, Torn realized Star had just slipped her fingers into his palm. He looked down at her, surprised, but she preferred not to meet his eyes, instead becoming fascinated with the broken pavement beneath their feet. Was she blushing? It didn't matter; he squeezed her hand reassuringly. Funny, she'd never done something as affectionate as hold his hand before. But then, a lot of things had changed. Before, they'd been no more than littermates, siblings forced to share lives which they believed should've belonged solely to them. He remembered how they had squabbled endlessly like Crocadog puppies over the most meaningless things. Now Torn was watching out for his sister, protecting her, filling in for the job his parents had abandoned.

"HALT!" Someone barked a command at them in a shrill, slightly muffled voice. Torn stiffened, his back becoming a rigid exclamation point. He turned around slowly. As he'd suspected, a Krimzon Guard stood watching them. Star didn't say a word, but the way she gripped his hand told him all he needed to know. She was scared.

The Krimzon Guard were the Baron's army. They patrolled Haven's streets in order to keep the city safe from Metal Head attacks. But instead of being revered by the citizens as the guardians the Baron assumed they would be, they were mostly feared. Because, Torn knew, as did most of Haven's citizens, that patrolling the streets was not the only purpose of the Krimzon Guard. Their other job was to enforce laws, particularly the harsh ones the Baron had passed since he came to power.

The Krimzon Guard's job was to keep everyone in line.

Decked out in full red armour and carrying a large, dangerous-looking weapon, (called a _shock blaster_ - for good reason) this particular Guard was a good six feet tall. "Where are you kids going?" He demanded. Torn chanced a glance at his sister; her eyes were wide and frightened like those of a cornered animal. And although he replied in a perfectly calm voice, Torn was scared as hell, too.

"My sister just got out of school. We're going to our house on the East side."

The Guard stared at him for a long moment. Torn met the man's eyes, concealed by two orange disks of metal planted into his mask, and stared back, unblinking. "Alright," the Guard finally said, grudgingly. "Move along."

Their walk home was otherwise uneventful.

When Torn and his sister turned the last corner and their house came into view, he knew something was wrong. The door had been left open, swinging and beckoning them in the breeze. Their parents would have never done something as foolish as to leave there front door unlocked and hanging ajar, especially in an area as full of homeless and criminals as Sector Nineteen had turned out to be. Torn felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. His mind began to race, presenting him with dozens of possibilities for what had happened, a handful of them hopeful - if deluding - most of them dire.

Though neither of them said anything, Torn's sense of dread grew with every step. Feeling as if he was going to be sick, he led his sister through the wreckage and towards their home. Star's thin, icy fingers gripped his hand tighter than ever, cutting into his palm. Still he said nothing.

Their house had been scarred on the outside from the last attack. What was left of their home was more than any of the houses around theirs, but it was still little more than a broken box constructed of brick and plaster. Now as the siblings passed through the open door, Torn saw it was scarred on the inside as well. The entrance hall had seemed deceitfully intact, except that the single photograph hung on the wall had fallen to the floor, it's frame bent, glass scattered around it.

Star finally let go of her brother's hand and wandered into the rest of the house. The air was still, deathly silent.

He walked over to the shattered picture, bent, picked it up, held it gingerly in his hands. He remembered what the picture had originally been of; he and his sister, two years younger, his freckles only beginning to fade, his body still in it's awkward adolescence. Star was a bit shorter, a little less developed than she was now. They'd all been told to smile, and Star flashed her teeth; Torn did so only grudgingly. Their parents had been posed in the background. The top half of the photo, where their parents had been, was torn off, and the edge had been blackened by the ugly scorch marks left from a Krimzon Guard blaster.

"Torn!" Startled, he looked up. His sister stood in front of him, her face pale. "I think you should see this." He dropped the ruined photo and followed his sister. Later he wouldn't remember what he'd done with it, the last piece of his happy memories.

Star led him first into the kitchen, which was as still and empty as the entrance hall, only this room gave him a better clue to what had happened while they were gone. The dining table was overturned, the glass in the kitchen cabinets smashed and strewn across the counters and the floor. The cabinets hung ajar, the plates and dishes they once contained now lying, broken, across the pretty blue flower-patterned linoleum tiles.

"My Gods…" His voice rang in the eerie silence, sounded cracked and broken. As his eyes shifted across the room, he could imagine the struggle that had taken place… here, their parents had tried to hide behind the table. There, the cabinets had been shattered by gunfire. The scene played itself out in his own terrible imagination.

_Stop it, _he told himself firmly. Catching a glimpse at his sister's face, he knew she was becoming more upset by the moment. He wanted to say something comforting, to tell her it was going to be alright, but he couldn't seem to get the words past his lips. He'd never lied to his sister before.

They wandered into the living room next, the floorboards creaking beneath their dirty boots. Torn swallowed dryly, passing his eyes forlornly over the destroyed furniture. When he noticed the scorch marks on the walls, his face paled and his stomach clenched.

"Who… what… how…" He heard his sister say. Her voice sounded muffled to him, as if she was some distance away, although she was still standing right beside him.

Torn clenched his jaw and forced himself to try to put some sense into the situation. He remembered his parents had been involved in some sort of protest, something the Baron didn't like… Closing his eyes, Torn recalled how his mother and father had been part of a "demonstration" outside the Baron's palace. He'd been very young at the time. They'd gathered in front of the gates, waving signs and flags, yelling and chanting. There were Krimzon Guards there, shouting, ordering them to desist. _"THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING," _he remembered one of them screeching, and the sound of the Guard's voice had sent terror through him. But they'd refused to leave. Then there was the sound of gunfire, shots fired into the crowd, screams, shrieks of pain, panicked people running in every direction, confusion.

He remembered the whispered conversations his parents had had while they thought their children were asleep. _"Don't worry, the Baron can't touch us," _his father had assured his worried mother.But Praxis had his citizens on a tight leash. The City Council couldn't stop him - in fact most of them supported the Baron since he'd managed to brainwash them. No one could stop the Baron Praxis. He crushed anyone and everyone in his way.

Torn turned sharply to his sister. "Our parents. The Baron was angry at them. He sent the Krimzon Guard, and now they're-"

He stopped short, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He'd heard something.

"Torn?" Star whispered, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. "What is it?"

"_Shut up!_" He hissed. He'd heard a voice, and now there it was again, growing steadily louder.

"…and now the Baron wants us to destroy the evidence."

"Does that mean we get to blow it up?"

"Yeah, that's what it means, you idiot. But first, search the house and see if you can find the kids. Praxis doesn't want any Rebel rats running around the city."

_They're talking about us, _Torn realized. Panic shot through him. He grabbed Star by the wrist.

"Star! Remember the fire escape? Out the back door, through the yard, and into the trees. Go. Now. _Run!_" That was all it took. Star ran, with Torn close on her heels. Behind them Torn heard one of the Guards' disembodied voices, questioning and mildly curious.

"Hey, did one of you guys hear something…?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've had this story in my mind for some time. It's one of those stories - authors, you know what I'm talking about - that no matter what you do, no matter what else you've got going on in your life, it keeps coming back to you and you're itching to put it on paper. Or to the word processor, in my case. Torn is my favourite character in the Jak series, hands down, and I've been wanting to write sort of a biography for him, fill in all those missing spaces. I just hope I can do him justice. 

Thank you for reading the first chapter. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

TORN

CHAPTER 2

The two siblings ran, Star in front with her brother close behind her. All those nights going without food had taken their toll on him and Torn was already beginning to feel weak and exhausted, but that didn't stop him from running faster than he'd ever run in his life. His legs ached and his breathing sounded loud and noisy in his ears, every gasp for air a painful shriek in his chest. His heart felt as if it might explode, but he didn't stop. Occasionally he threw a wary glance over his shoulder, making sure that the Guards he'd heard weren't following them. Torn had a sudden horrifying vision of the two of them both being shot in the back by a laser rifle, and ran faster.

He'd remembered the route for the fire escape their parents had drilled them on so intently: out the back door of their house, through their dead, weedy yard, across the ruins of Sector Nineteen and the Slums, and into the trees at the edge of the Sector. Only now did he realize why their parents had really made this plan, as they were fleeing for their lives from a very different emergency.

Although they only ran for a few minutes, to Torn it seemed like an age, a decade, a lifetime. But when Star tripped over a rock just a few feet from the copse of trees where their parents had told them that they'd be safe, time slowed to a halt. Her brother brushed past her before he'd realized what happened, and when she looked up at him he was scared by both the fear in her eyes and the tired resignation he saw there. In a split second, Torn looked up and noticed how obvious and vulnerable the two of them would look from the top floor of their house, two helpless figures that made perfect targets against the yellow dirt, weeds, and open spaces. He looked down at his sister, who wasn't getting up, and decided he would not give up so easily.

"Come on!" he yelled, no longer caring if they were heard as he realized that he wasn't afraid of the Krimzon monsters. He wasn't afraid of being taken prisoner, like he knew his parents had been, and he wasn't afraid of what they'd do to him. His only fear was for Star, that they'd hurt or kill his sister. Torn grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet, and the siblings stumbled the last few yards into the small copse of trees at the edge of their sector.

When they were finally safe they stopped running. Star collapsed on her hands and knees, shaking from fear and exhaustion, and Torn leaned up against one of the trees and tried to catch his breath, his knees threatening to give out under him. It occurred to him, dimly, why their parents had told them that it would be safe in the grove; Torn had guessed (or perhaps sensed) that the invading Guards would try to pick them off from a high point, and from here the leaves overhead were so thick that it would be impossible to see them, making them safe for the time being. They'd probably never know if there was really a Guard standing on the top floor of their house, hidden in the shadows and patiently staring out the window, waiting to make his shot, or if they'd managed to slip out of their home, for the last time, unnoticed.

Torn knew that he had to think of a plan. If the KG had taken their parents, then they were probably looking for the two siblings as well, and they wouldn't be safe for long if there were really hundreds of Guards hunting for them. He knew that they couldn't return to their home now, that they'd be risking their lives trying to go back as if nothing had happened. He didn't share any of his thoughts with Star, knowing that it all fell on him now. He would have to take care of them, to make sure they weren't captured and stayed alive. Torn would need to think of a plan, and soon. But he couldn't seem to think, couldn't focus. He told himself that he had to be strong, but that didn't help the sick feeling in his stomach, the overwhelming sense of dread and the panic that threatened to shut him down. He needed-

His disjointed thoughts were ripped apart by the sound of an earth-shattering explosion. Surprised, this time Torn's knees really did give out under him, and he managed to look around just in time to see their house obliterated, a could of dirt and debris rising from the ground where their home had once been.

The siblings watched the dust settle in silence. Star made a strange choking noise, and when Torn looked at her he saw tears quietly rolling down her cheeks. He moved closer to her, putting his arm around his sister, and she began to sob uncontrollably, clutching at her brother desperately for comfort. Torn held her, his brow furrowed with concern, although he said nothing. His icy blue eyes were quiet and watchful.

* * *

_"Attention all citizens! This is your Baron speaking! Be on the lookout for two vicious criminals. They are described a teenaged boy and a young girl, both with red hair and ragged clothing. They are wanted for their parent's crimes, including the murders of several innocent Krimzon Guards, rebellion, and the undermining of our precious social order! The Krimzon Guard needs your help apprehending these menaces, and you owe it to your city to report any sightings of these two monsters. Although they are children, DO NOT BE FOOLED by their innocent appearance! If you see these two, DO NOT approach them as they are dangerous! Report any sightings to your nearest Krimzon Guard."_

* * *

Three months later, they were hungry and homeless. 

His suspicion that the Krimzon Guard were looking for them was confirmed when he first heard the announcements being made throughout the city through the Baron's radio broadcasting terminals. The first time Torn heard the message, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his skin prickling with apprehension as he realized that he and his sister were being hunted. He and Star, perfectly innocent siblings, were wanted as criminals! Searching for food and shelter in a city full of homeless wasn't the least of Torn's worries.

Now living on Haven's streets was a game of stealth, learning to avoid Krimzon Guards without looking suspicious, evading an enemy that was literally everywhere. He was constantly on alert, trying to stay hidden in the shadows while he listened in on Krimzon Guard conversations for any hint of danger. Torn discovered that the Guards had begun systematic sweeps of the city, looking for the orphans in dilapidated buildings and warehouses, which, unfortunately for them, were the only places the siblings could find shelter. Star and Torn would manage to find an abandoned, rundown building where they could take refuge, then a few days or perhaps a week later, Torn would overhear the Guards in the area discussing the siblings' whereabouts and which sector they were about to search next, and he and Star would have to begin looking for another home. This went on in cycles. Every time they had to gather their meager belongings and move to another sector, Torn felt like tearing out his hair in frustration, but he couldn't see any other options.

Food was their other problem. Of course it wasn't enough that Torn himself was starving, that sometimes his thoughts became so clouded by his hunger that he felt he might soon lose his mind. Every night Torn would curl up with Star on the hard cement floor of some abandoned warehouse and eventually he'd shiver himself to sleep, and when he woke up the first thing he saw was his sister's face, pale and gaunt, her pretty green eyes ringed with dark circles. With each day that passed she seemed to become thinner and thinner, losing weight, losing strength, losing all of the beautiful life inside of her that Torn was working so hard to protect.

He dealt with this problem any way that he could. Sometimes he'd be prowling the streets and one of the richer citizens would press an Orb or two into his hand, asking him to guard their zoomer from other street toughs. He'd save these up and sometimes be able to buy Star and himself a meal at the end of the day.

But most of the time, he stole.

In light of Haven's food shortage, fruits and vegetables had become regarded as expensive luxuries. Because of the dangers of growing food on the fertile land outside of the city's protective barrier, some of Haven's sectors had been converted into agricultural zones by the Baron, who invested large amounts of the city's money to maintain the land. Because the agricultural sectors belonged to the city, the Baron could charge whatever price he saw fit for the fresh produce. The small fields where the produce was grown were heavily guarded by KG to discourage the homeless from stealing from the city's precious food supply. Most citizens knew enough to steer clear of the Baron's produce. Torn had once seen a homeless man beaten to death by the butt of a Shock Blaster for trying to take a bite out of a waterlope. Even Torn, desperate and hungry as he was, knew enough not to attempt such a thing. He decided the safest place to look for food would be in the Bazaar.

After the produce grown in the agricultural sectors had reached market weight, the Baron sold it to private vendors through the Krimzon Guard. Those vendors then sold the produce in the Bazaar. The Bazaar consisted of two heavily-trafficked sectors of the city, situated close to the agricultural sectors, but since the goods sold in these sectors didn't belong to the city, the Baron didn't feel the need to guard the Bazaar as heavily. Today this was where Torn found himself. The air was hot and humid. Torn wiped his brow with one dirty hand. Standing in an archway hidden in the walls of the Bazaar, he eyed the fruit stands hungrily, deciding which one he would prey on. Torn watched as one older lady tried to run four fruit stands at once. She was overrun with customers, bargaining with at least five people at once by shouting out prices back and forth. No one noticed the thin young teenaged boy standing in the shadows, and Torn knew they would never notice what he took in the confusion. 

The thin boy observed one Krimzon Guard, patrolling his subsector of the Bazaar slowly, leisurely, and Torn was confident he wouldn't have any problems with him. He'd been honing his thieving skills for three months now, ever since the day he and Star had fled their home and watched as it was destroyed. But he recalled even when he'd just begun stealing, he hadn't had much of a problem with the Guards. They were cruel and dangerous, willing to shoot innocent civilians on a whim, but also very lazy and brash. The first time he'd stolen fruit from the Bazaar, the vendor had screamed at him, shouting for the Krimzon Guards to arrest him. The nearest Guard had all but completely ignored them.

Now Torn waited patiently for the Guard to change his shift. He reminded himself that while most Guards were lazy and inattentive, he was still playing a dangerous game and it was best to be safe. Sure enough, the Guard soon seemed to lose interest in his duty and wandered off. He spoke into his communicator, swearing audibly about his boredom with patrolling.

Torn sprang. He slipped like a shadow into the mass of bodies huddled in the streets, worming his way into the crowd of his chosen vendor. Surely enough, no one noticed the thin boy with rusty red hair. Discreetly, he reached into one of the shelves and grabbed a handful of plump, ripe pink peachkins, pretending to browse and examine the merchandise while he stealthily wrapped his prize into a dirty grey handkerchief. Although no one was looking at him, his face would have betrayed nothing to the casual observer, blank of emotion. Pretending to lose interest in the vendor's wares, he slipped out of the crowd of bodies as easily as he had come, stuffing the handkerchief with the peachkins in it into his pocket.

He walked away casually, seemingly very relaxed, browsed at a few other vendors for good measure, and then made his escape. He wasn't foolish enough to run. If they hadn't seen you, hadn't suspected you, running was the biggest mistake you could make. But once he was clear of the Bazaar, Torn broke into a fast walking pace, keeping his eyes down and breathing an inward sigh of relief. It was a long walk back to the industrial section, where he and his sister had camped out in an old warehouse. As he walked he let his mind wander, fantasizing about how the peachkins would taste, a lovely rush of sweetness in his mouth.

Torn took a deep breath of Haven City's smog-filled air, glancing at his surroundings. The citizens around him were going about their business, keeping their eyes on the ground or straight in front of them. No one looked at him, no one seemed to notice the skinny teenaged boy that the Baron was hunting to intently. Haven was a cold and impersonal place, and wherever Torn looked, he was surrounded by the bland faces of apathetic strangers who paid him no mind. Strangely, he found the presence of these strangers reassuring; he could allow himself to get lost in the crowd, the anonymity lending him safety and allowing him to slip through the city unnoticed.

He was just one, Torn told himself, one lost in a sea of over three million. _But that's not true, _he reminded himself. He had his sister, Star, and when he thought of her, waiting quietly for him in an old warehouse in the Slums, he knew he wasn't alone. Not yet.

A Krimzon Guard zoomer roared past him overhead, the backlash of air behind it hitting him in the face. Torn heard the Guard's communicator, transmitting audibly. 

"_...need you in Sector Twelve, we've got a lead on a pair of street orphans. The Baron wants them apprehended ASAP, doesn't want these two wandering around..."_

The rest of the message faded as the zoomer disappeared around the next corner, but Torn had heard enough to set off an alarm. He tried to tell himself he was being paranoid. There were thousands of homeless kids walking around in Haven City, maybe hundred thousands, so what made him think that the Guards were talking about him and his sister?

Because the Baron didn't want the other homeless children. For what their parents had done, he wanted _them._

Torn ran the rest of the way to the warehouse.

Now a bizarre feeling of déjà vu swept over him as he ran. The painful rasp in his chest every time he breathed in, the terrible screaming ache in his legs as his feet pounded against the pavement. The all-too-familiar sense that he was running for his life. After an age, a lifetime, he finally reached the crumbling warehouse, his fears confirmed by the Krimzon Guard zoomer parked outside. Upon seeing it, Torn's senses seemed to shut down, overloaded by panic, and he felt as if he were running through a nightmare. He rushed into the warehouse, seemed to not even notice the creaking, useless wooden door as he pushed it aside.

The entire building was falling apart, little more than a few wooden boards nailed to a flimsy metal frame. The whole warehouse seemed ready to fall in on itself. Lights hung from the ceiling, but they'd stopped working long ago, and the building was mostly shrouded in darkness. The only light in the warehouse came from the holes in the ceiling, allowing what little remaining daylight there was to form eerie lit patches on the cement floor.

For a moment when Torn entered it seemed empty, lifeless, but then he heard the voices of Krimzon Guards, drifting from the back of the building in the still air.

_"Easy now, sunshine, you don't wanna make this any harder than it needs to be." _The words were kinder than he'd expected, but Torn caught the cruelty there, the malicious, mocking undertone, and a snarl of contempt formed on his lips. Squinting, he could just make out the group of Guards standing in the back of the building, the crimson of their armor catching the rays of daylight drifting through the ceiling. They were holding a girl with ruby red hair, the girl Torn recognized immediately as his sister. A gag had been put in her mouth, but he could still hear her muffled shrieks. Without another thought, the teenaged boy strode briskly toward them, not running but making no effort of stealth. Torn set the one closest to him as his target, the masked man whose back was turned and his hands occupied with his gun. They didn't even notice him, too concerned with their task, until he was right behind his chosen target. The Guard whirled around, a startled syllable forming in his mouth. In a flash, Torn balled up his fist and punched the Guard in the face.

The Guard collapsed, clutching at his face with his gloved hands. His mask should have protected him from Torn's hard left hook, but it was designed to shield a Guard's eyes against debris and Metal Head claws. The force of the boy's punch had shattered the flimsy piece of plastic; Torn had heard a sickening crunch which he wasn't sure was the mask or the sound of the Guard's nose breaking. Probably both. For a second, the rest of the Krimzon Guards only stared at him, slow to react. Torn took advantage of this, leaping like a wildcat for a gun holstered at the hip of one of the Guards. He moved clumsily aside, just far enough out of reach for Torn to miss and be sent sprawling on the cement. One Guard, a little quicker than the rest, hauled the boy up roughly by his shirt collar, then forced his hands behind his back, effectively making him helpless.

Star was still shrieking into her gag, and kicked viciously at one of the Guards restraining her. Torn couldn't see what was happening, was struggling desperately to free himself. The Guard shouted angrily. A single shot was fired. The sound rang and seemed to echo off the walls. Torn twisted around violently, trying to see what had happened. Before he could look, he was hit in the face by the butt of a gun. The world seemed to swim, his vision darkened, and then Torn fell unconscious.


End file.
